


emergency.

by cl3rks



Category: Lost Girl
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, F/M, Father/Daughter Dynamic, Friendzone, Swearing, cute necklace present, dyson is a total dad, dyson is scared and confused, everyone is scared and confused, he had an inkling tho, minor description of violence, reader is a little bit fae, this is cheesy, too bad dyson never knew you were actually his kid, when you've been listening to sad songs all week just to write this GARBAGE, you're scared and confused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 22:44:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6213136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cl3rks/pseuds/cl3rks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One bump was all it took. One teddy-bear dropping and one smile and some help with a few groceries. </p><p>He's not sure he'd take it back, though. If it meant saving you, maybe. But you'd still probably end up where you are now and he'd still probably be scared and confused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. nonetheless human.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I was gonna put in the archive tag for MCD but then I decided against it?? It might count for the second chapter, though. I've been watching this show for years and haven't written a DAMN THING for it
> 
> Warning: character death in first chapter and second. drugging and kidnapping in second chapter. this also hasn't been beta'd, so forgive my mistakes. (if there are any.)

Dyson bumped into a pregnant woman at a store once.

“Oh, shit. Sorry.” The woman smiled and apologized, one hand pressed to her lower back as the other went out to steady herself against her cart.

“No, it's my fault.” Dyson corrected, smiling back. “Sorry about that.”

He didn't see her again til she was holding a little girl a few year laters, he remembered the woman's scent, though... roses. The small girl was talking about her sippy-cup. He smiled again and the woman squinted at him as if she knew him, trying to remember. The little girl threw the teddy-bear she was holding onto the ground, whining about something. Her mom sighed and went to pick it up, but Dyson leaned down instead. 

He swiped it off the cold floor and handed it to the little girl, watching her give him a toothy grin. The woman thanked him and she bounced the little girl.

“Thanks.” The little girl said quickly, the word jumbling and catching on the 'k'. 

The woman's hands were full in the parking lot, he was walking to his car when she began fumbling with her things. She was trying to balance the little girl and load stuff. Dyson glanced at the milk jug in his left hand and the brown bag of groceries in the other. He sighed softly and turned to her. 

“You need some help?” Dyson called over, getting the woman to snap her head in his direction. She glanced to her daughter and shifted her slightly, nodding towards him.

“If you don't mind.” 

Dyson unlocked his car and set his stuff in the backseat, locking up the automobile before jogging across the middle lane to the row she was parked in.

“I don't mind.” He smiled genuinely, helping her by loading each bag into the trunk of her car. He even took the cart back to the corral. “Drive safe.” Dyson waved, about to walk back to his car.

“Hey, um...” The woman started. “Thanks. You wanna get coffee sometime?”

“All I did was help you with your groceries.”

“I know, but... still?”

“Sure.” 

When they went on the date, it didn't take long for something to build. It was, however, built strong over the years they knew each other. Dyson was pushed into the friendzone as the woman, Aggie, soon found love with other men. 

He watched the little girl – no, he watched _you_ – grow up slowly. You would play with him, color in the tattoos you could see on a hot summer's day. You would have tea parties and he'd read to you as you sat curled up against him, the television droning softly near you two. 

Your mother, Aggie, was grateful for him. Dyson grew very close to the both of you, but it was puzzling to see your mother age when Dyson didn't. He said he was “just at that stage of adulthood” and other bullshit like that.

He told you and then _showed_ you what he was. It explained a lot – him being a wolf-shifter, and all. He told you that he'd explain it more when you were older. 

You were twelve when you got him a present he'd never forget. On the end of a long chain was an oval-shaped piece of metal. On it, was the raised form of a wolf sitting patiently as the sun loomed over it. If he flipped it over, it'd have the etching of a wolf howling at the moon, night falling over it in a blanket-like state. 

His name was nearly microscopic on the thin edge of the medallion, like the straight grooves on a quarter. 

Despite this reminder, you knew your mom was young. In her twenties when she had you, so when you were ten and wondering where she was, Dyson said she'd be back shortly. You knew what she did, trying to provide for you. 

Dyson said she didn't have to. Dyson said he'd help. Dyson said he could find her a job. Dyson said... Dyson said – Dyson said so many things. 

Your mom was a prostitute. She slowly got into the business of accounting _without_ Dyson's help. They celebrated when she got the job and when she'd been there for two years and when she got promotion upon promotion. 

You were sixteen when you were sitting on the couch, your feet on the coffee table as you ate some cereal. You were home alone, Dyson back at his place. He was doing some work of some sort. You were watching cartoons when the landline started ringing.

You sighed, wanting to let the machine get it. It kept ringing, and ringing and eventually you snatched up the phone and walked to the kitchen sink, dumping your cereal bowl in it. You answered it and pressed it to your ear.

“(L/N) Residence. Who's calling?”

It was the police.

“Oh, no.” You whispered, tears coming to you eyes. You wished you hadn't ate that cereal. You were wearing pajama shorts and a tank top as you slipped on a pair of boots and a long cardigan of your mother's and ran out the door.

You ran and you _ran_ and you only stopped once to empty the contents of your stomach before you reached Dyson's house. You knocked and knocked and knocked and you beat your fist bloody on his front door as the cold air nipped at you and the powdery snow had made you previously slip on his front steps. 

You called out for him, called out for the man dubbed “Uncle Dyson” by your mom even though he acted like a father. You called out and screamed and it felt like a lifetime before he answered the door as you cried and sobbed and – fuck, oh, fuck – you couldn't _breathe._

He opened the door halfway, leaning out as you nearly fell backwards. If you had cracked your skull on his steps, you wouldn't have minded.

“Mom –“ You began, sobbing out words as your throat seemed to close and your lips seemed to seal.

“What happened to you?” Dyson nearly gasped, noticing blood dripping from your hands, and not from the crescent moons you were digging into your palms. “(Y/N), you're probably freezing! Jesus Christ, get in here!” He began, wrapping a long arm around you as he pulled you inside.

“Mom...” You tried again.

“Call her? Yeah, I'll do that. I'll ask her what kinda mother lets her kid out in shorts and a tank top during the damn winter!” He was picking up his phone and dialing and –

“Dead!” You cried. “Mommy's dead.” You sobbed, using a term for your mother that you hadn't used in so long. So – oh, dear _God_ – it had been so long since you used it. You felt childish saying it, you felt vulnerable as you collapsed on his couch; crying and hyperventilating and sobbing, with tears rolling off your face in hot streams as snot dripped from your nose.

Dyson freezed near the door, turning his head up to look at you as his fingers stopped moving over the numbers. He felt a lump form in his throat. “Aggie's dead?”

“They called h-o-me.” You hiccuped as you attempted to say the word. “They c-a-lled and-” You couldn't stop hiccuping now.

“You're gonna run yourself a fever, (Y/N), if you keep crying.” Dyson warned. You didn't care. The phone began ringing in his hands and it startled him. “Hello?” He asked after he picked it up.

Each call that wasn't answered at your home as directly forwarded to Dyson. You were now noticing the dull ache forming in your legs and feet after running to his home. 

“I'm her father.” You heard him say softly, sending you a glance as you met his eyes, sobbing a little softer now. “She just told me.”

You heard scattered words.

“Were they drunk?” Pause. “They were?” Another pause. “They also fell asleep at the wheel? Fuckin' great – sorry, didn't mean to say that.”

You heard someone disregard the swear, saying they understood completely.

“When can we come down and confirm?” Garbled speech followed, at least to you. “We're on our way.”

Dyson sent you upstairs after he hung up, telling you to shower and change into some clothes you kept in the spare bedroom currently marked with “(Y/N)” in big, wooden letters on the door. 

It wasn't long before you were at the morgue. From then on, it was a blur. The funeral, the cards, the will reading – Dyson adopting you. You moved your things to his home in record time, considering it wasn't horribly far. 

You didn't have anyone else. You didn't _need_ anyone else. You took to calling him 'dad' easily... he would always smile and a chuckle a little when you called him 'pops', though. 

He told you more about himself, his wolf-shifter self, and the Fae as you got older. Oh, what a shock it was to him when your eyes first glinted to a colorful, luminescent, bright version of your natural eye-color. You admitted to barely catching your eyes changing every so often. He realized that you only had partial powers, your mother's genes diluting whatever Fae-DNA you had. 

You had sharper teeth, yes, and your growl could raise hairs and your eyes – holy _shit,_ your eyes – they scared him, a little. You had something extra hidden behind those irises... talk about windows to the soul. 

You were nonetheless human, though. Overwhelming so, sometimes. It made him wonder just how much one could go without actually _being_ Fae, even with the slight advances. 

You admitted that, maybe – just _maybe_ – the universe did this. Not that you really believed in that, but you had to believe something, though, right? After all, a wolf-shifter raising a mostly human child? That wasn't normal, but it also wasn't some random occurrence. 

(It probably would've helped to know that Aggie, the woman – your mother, had slept with him a month or so previously. Maybe that's why she smiled at him. Maybe she knew. She didn't let on, though. Dyson certainly forgot. She didn't need him to remember, she didn't _want_ him to remember. She just wanted a family – and a family, she got.)


	2. that much stronger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the warnings from the previous chapter. I cried writing this piece of shit story. 
> 
> (I'm also going to be writing another x reader series for Dyson, except you won't be biologically/platonically involved with him. You'll be physically/romantically involved. If that makes sense???? Basically, you won't be father/daughter, you'll be fucking and cracking jokes and hating each other but also loving each other.)

You were nineteen when the first Fae (besides Dyson) approached you. You were turning twenty in a few hours, celebrating at a local bar. (Even if you weren't old enough to drink.) 

The Fae was attractive and his smile was deceiving and you believed him when he said he was kind. You believed him when he said his place was better. You believed him when he said his car was around back, not out front. You believed him as you stumbled and – fuck? Did he put something in that drink he got you? 

You felt him pick you up, your body easily slung over his shoulders. He took you back to his home, but didn't do anything. He kept you in his basement, he watched you – _stared_ at you. You felt vulnerable and scared, it couldn't have been more than a week that you were down there. The moment he came towards you, attempting something, the front door burst open. You heard various shouts of “Police Department!” and the first cop you saw was Dyson as the man ran to fight him.

You were twenty (having turned it a few days previously) when you first saw Dyson kill a man. Hale distracted the other police members as Dyson shoved the body into some place beneath the stairs. He then came towards you, crouching as his hands were pushed in front of him, slowly resting on your arms. 

“Did he hurt you?”

“He was about to.” You whispered. Dyson sighed softly and his arms wrapped around you as he pulled you against him. “You got here just-”

“I know.” He muttered, pressing a couple comforting kisses to the top of your head. “I know, baby.” 

You had kept yourself awake the entire week, refusing to sleep in case the man tried to overpower you. 

Dyson wasn't surprised when you told him this, your words slow and quiet. You were tired, though. He could tell. He carefully lifted you up, one arm beneath your legs with the other under your armpits. You fell asleep easily, your head lolling to the side to rest against his chest. Your arms were pressed to your chest as he carried you, soft breaths falling from your lips as your father walked you to his car. 

The paramedics tried to look you over, but Hale told them Dyson had already checked on your. 

You were twenty-six when you stopped aging. You felt something snap in you that day as you were doing a weekend run in the woods, your feet going faster than usual and you knew you'd lost Dyson somewhere behind you because soon you were running fast, then faster and then you didn't even know where you were.

“(Y/N)!” You heard in the far distance. You kept running, though. Then you weren't _you –_ you were a wolf with (F/C) fur and you saw Dyson catch up to you and his eyebrows shot up.

“Holy shit.” He whispered, approaching you. He recognized your scent. You started going on runs at night, after that. The both of you shifting and avoiding any lights but the stars and the moon. It sound cliché, honestly, but still. 

You were physically twenty-six but biologically fourty-six when Dyson was carrying you the same way as he did from the Fae's basement, except you were a part of a targeted attack. Some human had shot up a local Fae hangout and Dyson was carrying you, three bullets in your chest, one in your back and two in your abdomen. You had been trying to protect Dyson when it happened. Your head was lolled to the side, away from his chest as your left arm was loosely hanging around his neck. Your right arm was beside you, hanging down as your legs were limp from the bullet in your back.

The words you had whispered were swimming in his head. _“Dyson, Dyson –“_ Your voice changed. _“Dad, I can't feel my legs... I can't feel my legs.”_ You kept repeating it, your voice getting quieter and breathier with each spoken word.

Tears were in his eyes as he walked past cops, other Fae, Hale, and some people you had known. He wanted to scream, to tear himself apart even though the shooting already had – his heart felt gone and his throat closed and his lips sealed and he knew, _he really knew_ how you felt when you lost your mother.

Sure, he felt the same – but it wasn't as close to your pain. He now knew what it was like to lose a child, to lose someone so effortlessly close and the worst thing? He couldn't do a damn thing about it. 

He carefully set you on the waiting gurney and went back to his car, sitting in the front seat with his head between his knees as he hyperventilated and hurled. Hale only approached him after he doubled checked the entire scene. 

He'd have to get a witness testimony from him. 

Dyson was shaking and pale as he cast his eyes upon him. His head was still between his knees and he felt cold and deceived and betrayed that the place wasn't safe enough. He felt hate flowing through his veins, he felt an undying wrath and he also felt scared and confused and upset and nervous and frightened and _fuck_ what was he going to do? 

Your funeral was a week after and many Fae attended.

He met Bo and Kenzi five years later.

He didn't speak about you, even after those years.

He didn't trust himself to. He'd probably cry and heave and whisper words you'd said to him. 

_“Dad, I'm scared.”_ The way you had said it that night made you sound small, like a child tugging on their father's hand or standing in the doorway of his room after bad dream. But this wasn't a bad dream, this was a nightmare he couldn't wake up from. You were gone and he didn't know what to do.

You were his kid, his daughter. 

He was sitting next to Kenzi in the booth of a diner when she asked about the chain around his neck, reaching for small metal oval hanging from it with a quick hand. She felt hurt and confused when he swatted at her hand and left, his legs shaky as he walked to the cemetery with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his pants.

When he finally spoke about it to the department's shrink, she told him that it would always hurt, an he'd never forget. She was right, he never would. It would've hurt more if he had. Anytime he found a picture of you in some old shoebox or glanced at the one in his wallet, it felt like someone punched him in the throat. 

Dyson was a strong man, though. What didn't kill him, only made him stronger. Your death nearly killed him, but it only made him _that much_ stronger.


End file.
